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As long as I'm here to let you know my plans for the next couple of months, I should thank my astute followers for catching the fraud that has been committed online with my posts over the last couple of days. Yes, that's my pencil! Broadcasters, were you aware of this violation of my Color My Girl video? Why did someone need to commit fraud with it? Do you think it was so he could kill [my identity] and breed in my place with your support? And this morning I heard that those are my scars! My scars! Broadcasters, why would someone steal my picture of my poor carved up knee? That's a very nasty crime you've encouraged with all your support for crimes against my work and my name. But I guess you counted on me to kill myself by now so that you could pass off this kind of filth as legitimate work. I guess that's why I tell everyone that broadcasting artist killers breed fraud, because that's what you artist killing, fraud supporting broadcasters do. And who was that gang who beset me on my trip to the grocery store to buy tomatoes? What an excruciating walk that was for me. They're with you, right? They seem like the kind of people who'd think it's all right to put assholes who steal my music and poetry in limousines to be admired and leave me exposed on the street afterwards. If you're a subscriber to my blogs and videos, I'm leaving this note up to tell you that I'm saving my new creations for when I have an itunes account or something like that. I don't expect to have such an account for at least a year. I was also thinking of reserving my best sounding new tracks for an agent - also known as an entertainment lawyer. I'm sure that he or she will hear the potential of my music without it being on the internet getting constantly abused by frauds. I'm reading my Dostoevsky novel again because I didn't absorb much of it when I tried to read it in 2013. It's all just conversations really, just a bunch of crazy 19th century Russians all talking to each other, but I find it far more stimulating than TV or radio or the internet. I'm glad I'm back into my reading because it will help to keep me occupied as I travel over the next couple of months. Yes, I'm leaving Vancouver tomorrow and I'm not telling you where I'm going. All you need to know is that I won't be in Vancouver. So don't let those monsters here try to pull anything while I'm away. I won't add anything to the web anywhere except to this blog. Mark its URL: http://broadcasters-breed-fraud.blogspot.ca And I'll remind you that there are no live videos of me permitted outside of the ones displayed in my live videos slideshow of my Chronology of Recordings. It's URL is: http://chrono-dave.blogspot.ca/2014/11/my-live-recordings-2013-14.html I hope that's all I need to say until I've had a couple of months vacation. And to my good followers, keep up the excellent work with busting those evil frauds. Someone has to do it, after all. 4:49pm: Before I get back into my novel, I should say a little more. I don't hold it against the whole population of Vancouver for my departure, just against these awful production people who have me surrounded in the street and against the evil broadcasters who hyped all the fraud with my music and comedy. They don't have any moral problem with what they did to my sad music, delivering into the hands of spoiled rock stars like the Rolling Stones. The only pity they seem to be capable of is a kind of warped self pity which I tried to describe in my poem the Crybabies. They are such a poisonous, hateful presence in my sphere and have caused me so much harm that they've made me lash out in uncharacteristic violence with my pen here, at times. Regarding my earlier note about hearing someone say that those are your scars, the person could have also been saying those are your stars, which I would take to be a reference to my Copyright Issues page. Don't let anyone else get away with saying that they're the fraud victim, like that stupid band tried to do earlier this year at the Fortune Sound Club. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Offline Rhythm
Friday, July 21, 2017
Who's Paying for This?
Thursday, July 20, 2017
A Rigged Game
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Before I start, I'm getting another flash of memory from 2007 that tells me I talked about my 'Olympic penis' (12:40pm note) ten years ago and it ended up on TV. Looks like my brain is going to rewrite every word they plagiarized out of the thousands of pages I had online ten years ago. Hey, broadcasters, why won't my brain let me get on with new posts? I've been trying to write new things for eight years now and look what I've done instead: duplicate the thousands of pages of posts that your stars stole from me in 2007! Why? Why won't my brain do what I want instead of forcing me to relive past experiences and rewrite past works? All you broadcasters who presided over the theft and scattering of my thousands of posts from 2007, why am I forced to rewrite every damn word now? I want to write new things! Why can't I write new things instead of rewriting old things? You know why! You all know why! The only reason I'm still around to fight for ownership of my work is because I was prepared for this fight from childhood. The overwhelming adversity I face now was all anticipated and a path charted around it long before most of my enemies were even born. Even this note I'm typing now was predicted and factored into my rise. My mysterious protection, which lets me face down whole legions of evil production scabs by myself, hinges on the billions of dollars I'm worth in the future. Many thousands of lives are depending on me to follow through with my career and generate that wealth for them. Such future dependents are all betrayed by their broadcasters in the present. Do you think I'm insignificant? Why are you here reading this? Do you need to ask me my name when you see me? Do you really? How long have I been online with this account now, busting superstars with my songs and blogs? But you don't recognize me, right? You need to ask me my name so you know what to write on my order. Oh, and then you forget who you prepared it for as soon as it's ready. Yes, talk to your cue ball of a friend instead. Don't worry about disrespecting me. I'm unimportant. Too bad all your other customers can't get the kind of mistreatment you reserve for insignificant people like me. Maybe that's why stars get others to do their shopping for them. Maybe that's why they need to hide behind tinted windows. Maybe that's why artists go running to the business to beg for help to escape the brutal glare of the spotlight, but I think the business should offer their help freely to me since it's their fault I'm famous. And if they don't, I'm just going to try to make it as an independent artist. How is everyone liking the new music on the rock radio? As long as it sounds terrible, you know they didn't steal it from my YouTube account like they stole: All My Money, Arise, Assault, Beguiled, Canopy, Chair, Decent (as Kneel to the Power), Easy, Ectomorph, Fantasies, Fool, Fool's Paradise, Fortune, Free, Goddess, Godspeed, Harmony, Lifeless, More Sold Out, Natural (offline), Nonplussed, Outside, Prone, Rusty, Size, Smile, Spoils, Therapy, and Virtue, as well as Bad News, Mischief, Nonchalant, and Nothing but Ashes. I'm sure I'm leaving out many others, but as long as the goal of today's broadcasters is the same as Josef Goebbels', to unite the population with hate, they don't need songs of good quality like mine: they just need more untalented assholes who want to be stars. 1:47pm: When George Carlin was talking to you about the game being rigged, folks, he was plagiarizing an earlier post of mine like this one. When Saturday Night Live stole my Treachery script, it was not just to make them look funnier than they really were, but to make my script lose its meaning by disconnecting it from its author. These broadcasters are totally treacherous and I can tell by the way they've been trying to argue against my points with vicious put-downs. For a couple of recent examples, I might ask them who wrote my song Mischief. They, instead of admitting the truth and saying I wrote it after they told everyone that Blue Rodeo wrote it, respond with a blunt reference to my urine. What does my urine have to do with my music? Nothing at all. It is a simple mind manipulation, intended to make their followers reject me by applying disgusting imagery. Go back to the song before that and ask them who wrote Nonchalant. Instead of admitting it's my song, they hold up a billboard of toe fungus. And if I turned this paragraph into a comedy script, like I did with Treachery, they'd put it on a sketch comedy show like Saturday Night Live to bury its meaning and confuse my readers. It must be nice to have your own powerful broadcasting transmitter to support your crimes against talent like that. Do you wonder where these TV shows got all their comedy? Look how much they stole from me alone! Do you think the Simpsons wrote all their first seventeen seasons on their own? Isn't it more likely that they stole them from other unsolicited authors like myself? It sure looks that way to me. It looks like broadcasters use every dirty trick in the book to seize the high ground on an extremely warped playing field. No one, however, possesses higher ground than Almighty God. 5:55pm: So that's thirty-two songs up there that I heard on the radio. That's an hour and half of music. What do I hear in response? Hick? Is that all? What kind of a stupid answer is that? And what's this hideous talk about my genitals? Can't we stay on the subject of who wrote my songs? See how they take my songs and put them on the radio as the property of their friends and pets, and then, when I accidentally rewrite my old work, they call me nasty names! And how many years has this been going on now? Are the police reading? If so, I might ask them if we have any laws protecting honest citizens from this kind of cruelty. Are any judges reading or are they all in the back pockets of the corporate perpetrators of this outrageous fraud with my web posts? These people want to make my life as loveless as they can. My siblings were able to retreat into the love afforded by their own families after my parents died. Look at the social desert broadcasters left me in in exchange for all the gratitude offered by my sweet music fans over the last ten years. I can't believe how empty this world is without my fans, my friends, and my mother. And they want to call me rude names on top of it. Were it not for divine intercession - as I see it - I'm sure I'd be dead by my own hand now, as I expect is every other author to whom they owe vast sums of money, but I'll survive to teach them that no one can rig a game better than God. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Licensed to Steal
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Yesterday evening, as I attempted to drink myself to unconsciousness with my broken fridge roaring like a Maserati, I heard a woman's voice say that I was in prison. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, when I went to use the toilet with the window left wide open by another tenant, I heard the same voice falsely accuse me of being a hack. Did we get that all straightened out for another day? Whoopee. These constant false accusations of crimes committed with my own work are all I get for giving others pleasure. It's made me discover a level of bitterness so deep that I no longer recognize myself in the mirror; I feel like a loser for not killing myself. These zany imitators want me to write funny blogs for them out of this increased bitterness so everyone can keep thanking them for my suffering, but now I rephrase my words to keep the humor out of them. Were my index links blocked again? What good is that blocking program doing? It could only serve crime. When someone is caught committing fraud on the web, as NBC was caught with their YouTube videos of my comedy sketches, they are forced to erase their offending posts. That's how we deal with web fraud. Offenders, on the other hand, are always looking for some way to pin their fraud on their victim, so I think this 'K-9' site blocking program should be kicked the hell off the internet. I've suffered more than enough harm to my image for an innocent man. The broadcasters seem to have every creep in the world trying to build a career in show business out of stealing my posts. People see me receiving no support and get the message from all the glory handed to my assailants that the path to success is to steal my things and lie about me. Why are broadcasters allowed to bring so much harm to an innocent man like myself? Why aren't their broadcasting licenses revoked to discourage any further crimes? They must be licensed to steal. What would Dick Cheney or George W. Bush do to someone who falsely accused them of assaulting a child? I bet they'd only have to suffer such a false accusation once. They'd use their money to silence that lying prick and no one would dare take his place. But look what happens when it's you or me who gets falsely accused: it just goes on and on and on, with a new liar stepping up to replace the last one, for ten miserable years, branding us with the face of a pervert, regardless of our innocence. That's because we don't have the money to have any real justice in our capitalist's paradise. Do you think these horrible things couldn't happen to you? How precisely would you avoid your songs getting turned into fraud if the big broadcasters wanted it to happen? Do you think your friends would stick up for you? Ha, that's a good one. They'd sell you out in a second. Do you think your family would defend you? That's even more of a laugh. And judging by how broadcasters stay in business to add to my miseries now after already causing me so much harm, I'd have to guess that they aren't just licensed to steal, but to strip us of hope. I wonder if they're allowed to do anything good. 1:23pm: All these shaved heads I see around me make me think of my Austin Powers cartoon. Are they expressing support for my hero or trying to emulate Mike Myers' villain? You know that I also invented the characters of Me and Mini-Me, right? I invented them in a James Bond parody that I shared on Blogger entitled Goldmember. Myers seems to need someone else to dream up his characters before he can be funny with them. But I'm not a comedian, really; I'm a musician. So the fact that my comedy has brought me nothing but sheer misery, right up to the present, on the way to delivering lying comedians their greatest pleasures doesn't trouble me as much as the question of who received all the pleasure for my music. Let me now ask the radio stations who made all that money from broadcasting my music about who got to feel good with my music. We'll start with my most current posts and list them in reverse chronology back to 2013. Who got to feel good for Mischief? Who got to feel good for Nonchalant? Who got to feel good for Bad News? Who got to feel good for Therapy? Who got to feel good for Beguiled? Who got to feel good for Fool's Paradise? Who got to feel good for Virtue? Who got to feel good for Nothing but Ashes? The answer to all of the above is not me! On the contrary, I spend my days and nights howling in pain from the misery of my condition. Broadcasters are licensed to take away my pleasures, which are meant to reward my hard work, and hand them over to their friends and favourites as a reward for committing fraud. Who was it that told me I'd be happy later to endure the agonizing conditions of the moment? When was that? Two years ago? So how much later is later? Do you know how fucking horrible I feel? Do you think it's worth it for me to live through this for what feels like eternity and let it turn me into Jack the Fucking Ripper so I can be happy later? I think you care less about my feelings than my late friend who advised me to kill myself. 5:03pm: I'd rather be dead than have to contemplate the hate that motivated so many crimes against my music and poetry and comedy, a hate which may be born of self-love's sense of being diminished by another person's beauty. If you don't write elegant rhymes, for instance, you may need to break up my most impressive rhyming verses, as was done to my Octiverse. If you don't write appealing music, you may feel more comfortable with my best songs in the hands of twenty-five different bands than with them all together in my name. If you are intimidated by cleverness, you'd possibly get more fulfillment from a stand-up comedian's thefts of my posts than you would by rewarding me with your laughs of support. I'm telling you, I'd rather be dead from suicide right now than contemplating how this crowd around me may have cheered more out of hate for talent than out of appreciation for beauty when they packed stadiums to support crimes with my work. I'd rather be dead from hanging myself than wondering if our broadcasters nurture this incredibly destructive mass psychosis. Seeing how some people make themselves laugh for the most kindergarten level insults now tells me that they may never have appreciated my wit or my imagination but just their own vile hate. If so, wouldn't stardom only demean me? (The next morning:) I had a rough night after I went home from typing this. My life has been made unlivable here and I invited the Lord to sense it for Himself. I think He agreed that my suicide death from this pressure would be judged as a murder at the hands of an evil business. I woke up strengthened this morning. I'm not sure I want to blame the whole crowd here for the behaviour of their broadcasters, production scabs, and a few stupid cashiers. As long as I don't die of disrespect over the next year, I hope I can follow through on my plan to play my music outside this Telus owned region, where I might receive fairer treatment from the crowd. Now that I'm back to normal, I think my words on Adam and Eve are rewritten from the past. Don't let the person who plagiarized me get away with calling me a hack. What's everyone suddenly laughing about at 9:35 am this morning? I'm glad I don't know. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
A Beautiful Target
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I recall when I wrote and posted Blazon in 2011 that the cashier at McDonald's thought she should animate her gesture of handing me my bag of food with a 'move', in order to mock one of its lyrics. She spoiled it for me when she did that, and it's a better song than a lot of what the radio has since been offering in its place. I never know what kind of cruelty I will receive from the people I meet in my daily rounds. In 2012 I suffered violations of my new songs all year. By late August, as I began inadvertent reconstruction of my huge comedy blog, the Card Parties, I tried to play an open mic show at the Cafe Deux Soleil, but I was driven away by their sound man's put-down, which called my gear 'unsightly'. In 2013 you can see how long it took to clear the fraud monsters from the stage by the gap between my posts, Get Off the Stage and Have You Heard David's Innocent: a whole month of pure misery. And then you can see how my image was thrown back in the toilet for a new fraud star in 2014 by my post the Path to Infamy. Summer is always about stealing my things and maligning my image: from 2012's Summer Sucks to 2013's Fans of the Flames to 2014's What Do You Do All Day? to 2015's Summer of 2015 to last summer's Mature People Need Less Love to this summer's being called OJ Simpson by a cashier, as documented in my last post to Coats from the Lost and Found. This is the behaviour of people who want me to kill myself. I sure hope I can get better treatment outside this region. What did broadcasters call that singer who helped himself to four hours of my songs again? Oh, Jesus! Well, Jesus is the most beautiful person who ever lived, so they must have thought he looked very beautiful with his face attached to hours of my music. And what do they call me, the author of my music? Am I not at least as beautiful as the fraud who stole my music? Maybe you'd see it if you were able to look at my face for longer than five seconds without some new assassin coming along and covering it in filth. And are you getting sick of this? Well, are you getting sick of repeated violations of my image or of me defending myself against them? I hope it's the former. By the way, who told me in 2007 that no one's allowed to tarnish my image? When are you going to tell everyone else? What did you think I meant by the line beauty that needs complete replacing... in my song Fool's Paradise? Was that song more enjoyable for you when it lost all its meaning in the hands of frauds? There I was in 2007, sharing a song about how commercial illusions destroy truth's beauty, and it gets stolen and credited to Nickleback on the radio. I've been stating my case for three years now, since I inadvertently rewrote the song in 2014, but I still end up getting insulted by maliciously misinformed cashiers over it. The more beautiful something is, the more determined evil broadcasters are to destroy it. And, wow, did the TV ever shred my poetry. How many different TV shows had a hand in destroying the Mammals alone? When you take a tome like that, with its meter unbroken for sixty-four verses, and tear it apart to distribute its pieces among your accomplices, you are engaged in an act of all out destruction. And what is a poem? Is it not beautiful? So taking it and ripping it apart is a crime against beauty. But what did Tina Fey get called for this crime? She was called an artist. If she's going to be called an artist for my poems and Dean's going to be called Jesus for my music, I guess I'll just get stuck being called all the other names you can think of. But an artist is one who is concerned with beauty, right? And Tina Fey was only ever concerned with stardom and power. Incidentally, when I heard about a 'dirty fraud show' getting kicked off the air in 2016, did it have anything to do with my reconstruction of the Octiverse at that time, of which the Mammals comprises a mere eighth? Broadcasters think they can win you over with posters and videos of their bad bands, but look how much more attention I got by merely capitalizing some of the titles in my music index. It caused such a rush to my music that someone had to block it out. They need to resort to dirty tricks like that because they have no beautiful work to make up for all the music and poetry and comedy I've reclaimed through this account. They shouldn't be allowed to broadcast if they're just going to use their influence to inflict further harm on their fraud victim. And by making me suffer so terribly for sharing my work here, they've discouraged me from sharing my new creations with you. I have new recordings that already sound better than Nickleback, even with their vocal track missing, but I don't feel safe about finishing them and posting them on the internet. I also have new comedy scripts that would certainly make you laugh, but it's not my job to make you laugh and the ones who are getting paid to do it depend too heavily on my wit. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Monday, July 17, 2017
Making the Least of It
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I've been made acutely aware of how little freedom I have since my work got popular on the internet. If you never do or say anything to stand out, you may confuse your invisibility for freedom, but I know better. My choices these days are almost nonexistent. I may step outdoors to be surrounded by whole brigades of assassins or I may stay in my room where I must submit, day and night, to the ceaseless signal of my neighbour's TV like a character from Orwell's 1984. And while I finally managed to quit smoking, which is an impressive demonstration of my free will, the non-smokers who so severely chastised me before can't seem to find it in their hearts now to offer me even the slightest courtesy. I wrote earlier that power is the enemy of freedom. By this logic, freedom itself can be an enemy of freedom, depending on who has it. What is a corrupt broadcaster's freedom, for instance? It is the freedom to broadcast my comedy and poetry as his own and to make the world think that I'm a fraud. It is the freedom to continue raising suspicions about my copyright claims even after his stars and staff go to prison. And what was Mick Jagger's and Keith Richard's freedom? It was the freedom to be the stars of my songs so they could stay attractive to young girls in their old age. And look where their freedom has left me after ten solid years on the internet. Much of what I share here in my little Blogger account is plainly obvious and yet it stands out on the internet. This is because no one ever wants to admit it out loud or even in silence. We blind ourselves to such troubling facts as those I've been forced to discuss, in order to trick ourselves into thinking that we're well off. Commercial broadcasting helps us along with this self deception, ever painting rosy pictures of happy endings in our shopper's paradise. Parents don't want to tell their children that they are due for painful suffering. Neighbours don't want to admit that they're counting on me to commit suicide. Women don't want to admit that I cause them to become intensely sexually aroused. And by closing our eyes to all this truth, we confine ourselves to an intellectual prison cell. 3:14pm: I'm dragged back against my will to add more to this post about the scarcity of freedom in our world. On the way here I had to steer my eyes away from billboards that taunt me with reminders of who owns everything, as I retreated into the silence afforded by my silicone earplugs to escape the unwelcome comments of malicious strangers on the industry payroll. Who needs Plath's bell jar in a place like this? And this is the life I get for expressing myself freely on the internet when I criticize stars and broadcasters for stealing my property and assaulting my image. They sure make me pay a high price for my freedom in this free society. Freedom suits me because I have a mind of my own. There would be no point to my freedom otherwise. Free people like me think for themselves. And we tend to rebel against authority because we don't need it. I doubt that truly free people would allow broadcasters to dictate news stories through the TV and radio. Nor would they wish to conform like foot soldiers to fashion trends. So why do we behave this way in the free world? I think it is largely out of fear. In school, for example, trapped amid countless peers, a student feels overwhelming pressure to blend in. (Yes, freedom takes courage.) After graduating, other pressures may arise to negate his freedom, such as those of wedlock. Is freedom desirable? As far as I can gather from Genesis, Adam and Eve were prisoners of perfection in the Garden of Eden. They enjoyed a blissful ignorance, very much like the animals which surrounded them. Then they exercised their free will by eating of the forbidden fruit of knowledge and look what happened: everything turned to shit, and it's been nothing but wars and plagues for us ever since. We can't even skinny dip anymore without getting into trouble. I sensed my freedom most under attack by the crimes committed against my works of the heart: my music, comedy, and poetry. This is because my heart is the holder of my freedom. When I review a video of myself reciting Part VII of my poem, the Mammals, for instance, why am I invaded by the image of Tina Fey? This is a serious breach of my freedom, a poet's freedom, and I am far from the only one to be hurt by it. Without the freedom for a poet to simply say he wrote his poems and songs and blogs, as those wicked broadcasters would apparently prefer us to be, we may have no freedom at all. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Shallow Reflections
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I'm tired. I wish I could take a break from this writing, but that just invites more vicious assaults on my image. I wonder if I'll drop dead of exhaustion from being forced to post work every day just to prove I'm not in jail; just to defend myself from the same transparent lie that has been told and retold and retold over the last ten years by a big ridiculous gang of celebrity frauds who want to be the stars of my music and comedy. What a hopeless world affords them prominence. Have you found something more constructive to do than watching TV or listening to the radio or playing a video game today? I won't count on it, though reading this post is a good start. Just as my smoking habit turned out to be a lot less binding than I first imagined, I bet most of you could abandon your favourite dead-end electronic diversions with little difficulty. You don't really need them, and, at least for the time being, they seem to be doing you considerably more harm than good. I used to love watching TV as a youngster. In fact, my script Boob Tube Brain could be a snapshot of my boyhood. In 1973 I knew the broadcast schedule so well that I could predict the commercials. When I recall this period, I see my school engaged in a tug of war against corporations for possession of my mind. With tedious homework up against the flashy fare of televised prime time, the winner was inevitable. As a teen I later rejected television, though probably too late to avoid its consumerist influence. I also used to like video games and I shudder to think of how much time I wasted on them. Video games are even more dangerous than TV because they are interactive. They enable their players to immerse themselves wholly in the two dimensions of their computer screens, a full step beyond the secondary role-playing offered by TV shows and movies. While their imaginary flights of fancy were fun and compelling, they also left me feeling somewhat more dissatisfied with my real self. I loved my mother but I think she liked TV too much, especially light comedies like the Loveboat. I'd turn and glower at her at the predictable end of such a show, dismayed to find her beaming with delight. She hated cruel reality and thought she should discourage me from facing it, but life is tragic, and a responsible parent would have wanted to prepare me better. My mother wanted me to be comfortable, but I'm not sure if she wanted me to actually be alive. We'd argue about it. Too much detachment from reality clears the way for people to extend their fantasies to pretending ownership of my songs and blogs. Since all my work came from shunning electronic diversions - outside of blog posting, of course - I think it is all the more destructive when a person's internet connection gets more credit for producing it than I do. As for facing life's tragedy, the last thing my mother told me before she passed away in the hospital was that I was right. 1:53pm: Yes, Google, that was me trying to sign into my account from those outside computers this afternoon. I'm sorry I don't have a mobile phone yet, but I thought you could tell it was me by the unique way I always type in those password characters. You know what I mean, right? I sure hope I don't get stuck outside my account like that again anytime soon. It was rather scary. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Look Away
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So, I've now spent ten solid years authoring and sharing poetry, music, and delightful little comedy sketches. And all it seems they ever want me to get for it here in Nickleback's and Goldie Hawn's and Telus' and CBC's Vancouver is a room in a nuthouse and a public library crowded with online malefactors. What a shame that I must live in such a hostile, oppressive environment when I might be a big success as early as tomorrow by simply going out on a stage with a few of my new songs. Each day I must wait to build up the money to leave feels like an eternity in hell when I am innocent, but dirty creeps who steal my beautiful work and lie to children with it take the express train to the top here. They must know that they lack the talent to win your attention fairly when they resort to blocking out my indexes and stealing my posts and assaulting my image. And with no work of their own to offer you it shows that they only want to be stars for the power. They're tyrants in waiting, expecting the full support of apparently corrupt commercial broadcasters for violating my image and my copyrights. Their arrests and punishments are kept secret so they can stay at large with their filthy lies. They've made a desert out of what should have been the fullest, happiest decade of my life, and now they'd like to extend their harm into my old age. I create and share work that pleases people and all I ever get in return is nasty hate, thanks to them. And wherein lies the appeal of this work of mine they so madly covet? I live in seclusion and confine myself to a small area. I shun the radio and TV and newspapers. I seldom socialize. All I do is sit around and write most of the time. Maybe it has something to do with the intensity of my life experience. I recall reading a war story about a spy who'd been led to think that she was about to be executed. It boosted her senses, delivering her perceived last few moments on earth in rich detail. When you live in truth, with your eye on your mortality, you notice interesting things. Then if you're like me and possess some authoring skills, you may wish to apply them to the faithful documentation of your observations. But that gang on the TV wants to spend their whole lives with their backs turned to such reality, and that's likely why they can't produce any good work. The unsightly reality which they refuse to face is the same one they immersed me in by making me the sole victim of all their pretty stars. I must live every moment of my life with unspeakable crimes staring me in the face and it certainly wears on my mood. And look what happened when I took this horror and used my talent to spin it into an appealing work of music, like Fool's Paradise: they credited Nickleback with authoring it! Held up to the light, as it is in this account, their cruelty appears most unbecoming, which forces them to retreat deeper into their pathetic recess of illusion. To sustain an innocent image they resort to every manner of online treachery against me, then before long I'm hearing about a new copyright violation. 1:05pm: Broadcasters must want us to be in a constant stupor, never opening our eyes for a moment to gain any real information. All they ever put out are stupefying distractions and they found my enlightening observations threatening. Apparently starving for substantial work, you were drawn away from them by my bitter but elegant truth, which forced them to seize it and render it all into yet more impotent distractions which fit neatly into their programming schedules in the grabby hands of their frauds. And now, after they handed frauds everything for my work, I, the victim, plod down a path that is ever lined with malicious strangers instead of cheering fans. On the way home from the store earlier today, for instance, some ass with an ipad taped a cardboard hate sign onto a post for me to see in front of the busstop on Venables at Clark, which I ignored. These are the only kind of people I ever encounter on the street in Vancouver after the whole population got together and filled stadiums to cheer for the crime of fraud with my music. I desperately want to leave. A couple of young mothers were in the store when I posted the first five paragraphs of this. I wonder why people with remote internet access like that would not also have a home connection. Anyway, whenever I see such young parents I can't help but think of how their children might be doomed. Do you want your child to be talented? Do you want your child to know how to draw and write music and write poetry? If so, in the light of all I've shared here in the last eight years, I think you're pretty sadistic. Frankly, all children, talented and untalented, are in for a miserable, suffering time, as the horrible looming realities of the present are allowed by willfully distracted parents to swell to intolerable proportions by the time today's children reach adulthood. Maybe your children are doomed because their parents are too cowardly to stand up to evil corporate broadcasters and make the world safe for honest people like I'm trying to do all by myself. Hey, why don't you turn on your TV or radio to help you forget about it! 2:30pm: And am I too bitter? Well, I'd like to bury myself in my new recordings but there's no point in finishing them because I can't share them. And I have some great new ideas for comedy scripts, but I better not share those either. Should I draw? No, I better not. Well, what should I do then? Gosh, I guess I can't do anything but focus totally on my misery and try to defend my image and my work while I'm doing it. Not a very cheerful occupation. And how many millions of dollars have been lost by my repossession of my popular work from the TV and radio? How many millions more are being sacrificed now for discouraging a commercial author? You broadcasters know best, though, right? Or should I ask how much love has been lost? Not to worry, I'm sure your superiors can replace you all with machines that have more heart. |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Friday, July 14, 2017
Bad Examples
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I've tidied up my grammar in my last few posts. I'm going home to write today's post. It's too crowded here at my neighborhood library branch to work comfortably, but I bet that the much larger central branch downtown will be almost empty when it opens. Will corporate support for crime win love or just more crime? 10:17am: While some Americans may see their state as a modern day Roman republic, it is unwise to emulate the ancient Romans very much beyond their ingenious political system. I personally find it vulgar to equate Hollywood movie stars with the gods and heroes of ancient myths - though I love Harryhausen. Of course, the ancient republic was fascist, with a connecting neoclassicism favoured by both Hitler and Mussolini, but aside from putting well proportioned nude women on parade floats, I consider their style to be a dangerous throwback. When admiring the success of the ancient Romans, we may fail to duly credit the conditions of their time for it. They inherited a world that was uncivilized, at least by our standards. Things like infrastructure and education were largely nonexistent in the tribal domains of their surrounding neighbours. By spreading their technological and civil progress into the lands they conquered, the Romans rightly viewed their expansions as positive and helpful. Today, however, it is not so clear which people are fittest to advance civilization. America is great, but why? Is this greatness merited by a people of superior character or merely of superior wealth? Money is nice, but it does not answer every need. Albert Speer commented in his memoirs on the reading materials of the Spandau guards. He noted that the Russian guards had far more sophisticated taste in reading materials than the American guards. Wouldn't Western style pop culture, which draws us away from well written novels to make room for TV and comic books - and blogs - actually lower the quality of life for such typical Eastern Europeans? Fast food strikes me as culturally regressive. Fast food's contempt for cuisine may infect our people with a general contempt for productive labour. Fast food not only deprives us of the culinary enhancements afforded by taking the traditional steps to cooking a meal, but fosters an unreasonable expectation for instant results. Such instant gratification may be behind the behaviour of all those who expected to copy and paste their way to stardom with my songs and blogs, heedless of the love and labour I poured into my work's construction. (Nonetheless, I love my 7/11 pizza - always ready in well under ten minutes.) 1:56pm: I think stars make poor role models. Frankly, the ancient Romans knew better than to glorify performers, who all too often fall for their own illusions. (I wonder if the ancient Romans own cultural mentors, the ancient Greeks, kept women off the stage to contain an already menacing grandiosity.) Too few stars embody the late Bruce Lee, mindful and protective of their real selves. Do you think Mick Jagger is Lucifer? I doubt it. Lucifer wouldn't let me get away with bashing him as consistently as I've been bashing Jagger and the Kidney Stones since 2007. Self proclaimed deities like Jagger could be in for an excruciating eternity if Part VIII of my poem, the Masterpiece (The Judgement), turns out to be accurate. And good heavens, where would that leave his multitude of fans? As critical as I might be of America, I greatly admire her. She is prosperous and strong. Her people are kind and tolerant and God fearing. As a Canadian outsider to their civilization, I am specially positioned to offer them cultural insights in their own language, or at least in something resembling their own accent, and I think they have been most generous to me with their attention. In my heart of hearts I consider myself an American, one whose pioneering ancestors dared to cross the Atlantic Ocean and stake out a bold claim here in the wild and unpredictable New World. May final success in my struggle against a host of rich and powerful adversaries ultimately prove America's fitness for supremacy among the nation states of our age, as a great champion of truth and justice and as a true beacon to happiness. 5:45pm: When I speak of a true beacon to happiness, I'm not just waxing poetic, but trying to specify the ideal political domination. Good hope is the beacon to happiness, for wherever good hope may exist happiness is possible. While my condition may appear at first futile, opposed as I have been by so many wealthy, high placed stars, consider that I am still here to continue the fight. Being so gives good hope to countless exploited workers like my late parents, whose worst nightmare would be for their children to fall into the clutches of greedy predators like the twisted stars listed in my Copyright Issues page. Beyond that, imagine the euphoria of my surviving the humiliating present to ascend to my own stellar success. Such dreams may only be possible in America. And Nasco workers: if you want to betray yourselves and your children for twelve dollars an hour when I would have paid you a hundred dollars an hour, just wear your Nasco black and keep standing in my way! |
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| © 2017. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
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